


Black Lace on Sweat

by pandacowhipster



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Panty Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-03
Updated: 2012-09-03
Packaged: 2017-11-13 10:51:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/502727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pandacowhipster/pseuds/pandacowhipster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles doesn’t find them, so much as he trips over them. He’s putting back a book he borrowed from Derek when the slick material slides under his sneaker and sends him flailing to the floor of the train car. He picks them up to see what tripped him, immediately dropping them when he realizes what they are.</p><p>A pair of black satin panties.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Black Lace on Sweat

**Author's Note:**

  * For [teamfreewolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/teamfreewolf/gifts), [sir_yessir](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sir_yessir/gifts).



Stiles doesn’t find them, so much as he trips over them. He’s putting back a book he borrowed from Derek when the slick material slides under his sneaker and sends him flailing to the floor of the train car. He picks them up to see what tripped him, immediately dropping them when he realizes what they are.

A pair of black satin panties.

He leans over and gingerly picks them up by the least offensive corner and stares. Logically he knows Derek is (mostly) human and thus there’s a good chance he has some sort of a sex drive, but Stiles’ mind just can’t wrap around the idea of Derek bringing a chick back to his lair o’ doom to bang. A chick who forgot her panties, does that happen a lot? Like, if you’re good enough in the sack women just stumble out of your bed completely uncaring if they’re in possession of all the unmentionables they arrived with?

Stiles really wouldn’t know.

He carries them back out of the car with him and holds them up, “Aren’t you supposed to give these back in a paper bag?”

Derek turns around and stiffens when he sees what’s in Stiles hand, “Aren’t you supposed to mind your own business?”

“Aw, c’mon,” Stiles grins, “I’m just trying to bond with my wolf bro after he got some tail.”

Derek snatches the underwear from Stiles and throws them back in the train car, “Shut up.”

“What? Do you not want people finding out about your torrid affair? I can keep a secret, Scott still thinks a roving pack of ninjas are the ones who broke his Playstation.”

“Stay out of my room.” Derek heads into the car and slides the door closed with far more force than necessary.

“Clearly you need to call her back over here,” Stiles says heading up the stairs, “You are way too tense.”

-

“This is a bad idea.” Isaac says as Stiles pushes him towards the train car.

“This is a great idea and it’s our only chance to find out what foxy filly Derek’s getting weird with.” The two of them are the only ones in the car as the rest of the pack is out in the woods by the Hale house training. Stiles had volunteered to pick Isaac up from the warehouse and decided to spring his plan into action. At least, he would be springing if Isaac would just get on board with the plan already.

“Why do you even care?”

“Derek is having sex,” Stiles insists, “how are you not fascinated by this?”

“He’s my alpha, we’re practically related. It’s kind of gross to think about.”

“Come on dude,” Stiles says tugging at Isaac’s sleeve, “Derek had sex with someone, that means he had some sort of _feelings_ for a _lady_ , don’t you wanna know what kind of lady? She could be like a knife thrower or a cougar. The possibilities are endless.”

Isaac looks moderately intrigued, “Fine. If only so you’ll shut up.”

They step into the car and Stiles is about to lift up the sheet on Derek’s makeshift bed when Isaac stops him.

“He’ll be able to smell you on anything you touch.”

Stiles yanks his hand back and cranes his neck as he looks around the room, he sees something shiny and black peeking out from inside Derek’s foot locker, “There they are,” he says batting at Isaac’s arm.

Isaac shrugs him off and crouches down next the trunk, inhaling, “Oh.”

“Whatcha got?”

“The only scent on these is Derek’s.” Isaac says unfolding his lanky frame and pushing Stiles out of the car.

“What you mean like he washed them?” Stiles definitely can’t picture Derek Hale throwing a pair of satin panties in with his delicates at the local laundromat.

“Oh, he didn’t wash them.” Isaac says dragging Stiles up the stairs toward his jeep.

Stiles snorts, “What? So he wore them?”

Isaac doesn’t respond, just keeps heading for the jeep.

Stiles’ jaw drops so far he thinks it may have unhinged, “He wore them?”

Isaac just looks at him wide-eyed and tugs beseechingly at passenger door handle.

“How do you know?”

Apparently Isaac realizes Stiles won’t get him the hell out of there until he explains, “they smelled like him, like sex and—” He gestures pointedly at his crotch.

Stiles grimaces, “You know what Derek’s dick smells like?”

Isaac huffs, “No, but I know what come smells like.” He drags a hand through his curls, “Can we please go before I get any more traumatized?”

“What do we do?” Stiles asks once they’re in the jeep heading for the woods.

“Do?” Isaac asks, voice tight, “We do nothing. We pretend this never happened and I go to therapy when I’m thirty because my alpha gets off by wearing lace panties.”

“Actually they were satin.”

Isaac thumps his head against the window, “thanks for the clarification.”

-

While it’s easy enough not to say anything about it, it’s a lot harder not to think about it. Because seriously? Derek Hale wears women’s underwear, how do you not think about that? Stiles has been thinking about it almost constantly—which made for some very awkward conversations over dinner with his father when all he could think about was silk and Derek’s junk.

That’s probably the weirdest part of this whole debacle. Stiles can understand the getting off on women’s underwear thing, different strokes for different folks and all that. What’s tripping him out is that Derek gets off on _anything_. He seems like this non-being where Stiles has trouble picturing him doing things other than lurking in shadowy corners and barking orders at his pack. It’s like the time he saw his fourth grade teacher in the grocery store and realized he didn’t live at school, you never fully realize some people are full-fledged humans when you only see them in a certain setting. It doesn’t sink in that they’re just like you until you see them with a cart full of Hot Pockets or find silky underthings on their bedroom floor.

And now that Stiles is thinking about Hot Pockets in addition to Derek’s junk he’s not sure if he wants to get off or go eat. Which, yeah, another realization, the thought of Derek in said silky underthings apparently does it for Stiles. Like, really does it. Like, Dad’s-going-to-ask-where-all-the-lotion-went does it.

Different strokes, man.

He feels a little bad because Isaac has lost the ability to look either Stiles or Derek in the eye and it’s totally Stiles’ fault. It’s his fault because he’s the one who made Isaac get a nose full of Derek’s underwear and he’s also the one wafting the smell of arousal everywhere any time Derek bends over and Isaac knows exactly what he’s thinking. Not to mention, even if they don’t know exactly what he’s thinking, the rest of the pack can probably smell it too.

Awkward.

So awkward in fact, that Stiles decides he needs to do something. There’s a high chance he’s going to get punched in the throat and an even higher chance he will get excommunicated from the pack, but that’s why Lydia’s the tactical planner and he’s the research guy. He’s got all his facts and now he intends to run with them.

Isaac agrees to help him if only for his own personal sanity, telling Stiles the less he knows the better. He agrees to keep the betas occupied after their next practice and Stiles agrees to continue pretending none of this ever happened.

He writes off his twitchiness during practice as too much Mountain Dew and too little sleep. Allison just shrugs it off and continues to help him perfect his crossbow skills. He’s actually getting pretty good, but he can’t find it in himself to be proud of his progress since he’s more focused on the lump of material sitting heavily in his front pocket.

“Jesus, Stiles!” Scott exclaims, holding an arrow centimeters from his chest. “I’ve had enough arrows shot at me for a lifetime.”

Stiles shakes his head and scrubs a hand down his face, “Sorry dude, zoned out.”

Allison gently takes the bow from him, “Then, maybe we should lay off the dangerous projectiles for a while.”

Stiles claps a hand on her shoulder, “Good idea, I’m just gonna…” he trails off as walks away and takes a seat outside the train. They all do their wolfy workout for a while longer and when it looks like they’re all going into one of their lounging bouts that tend to follow a strenuous practice Isaac convinces them to hit up the mall for a movie he knows Stiles has seen and Derek wouldn’t go near under pain of death.

Stiles waits until they’re all gone before rapping lightly on the door of the train car before sliding it open. Derek’s sitting on the two mattresses he has stacked on top of each other as a bed, he looks up at Stiles and gives him a nod.

“Um,” Stiles shoves his hands in his pockets on reflex and tenses when his knuckles hit the ball of smooth fabric.

“Stiles?” Derek says, brows furrowing.

“Yeah,” Stiles lick his lips “I, uh, the other day when I—” Stiles stops, deciding for the first time to abandon words in favor of action and tosses the contents of his pocket into Derek’s lap.

Stiles looks away as Derek unfolds them, he’s looked at them a thousand times since he ordered them. He’s felt the soft material beneath his fingers just as much. They’re pretty, a vibrant turquoise blue that’s just barely see-through with a thin black lace trim around the edges, a round bow at the front of the waistband. They’d looked pretty on the tan, shapely model as she’d thrusted her hips this way and that in photographs on the lingerie website Stiles had spent far too much time on. It was a pretty Stiles could definitely appreciate, but he couldn’t help but think of how much better they’d look on Derek.

“Is this some kind of joke?” Stiles looks up and the set of Derek’s jaw and the hardness in his eyes give him flashbacks to the days of wall slamming and threats of throat ripping.

“No.” Stiles says, shaking his head, “I just—I know. What you do, I mean. Well, I don’t _know_ , but I have a decent idea. Actually it’s more of an indecent idea, I guess. Anyway I just—I can’t stop thinking about it. Like, at all.”

“What.” Derek says, a small portion of his anger replaced with confusion.

Stiles isn’t sure which part Derek wants him to expand on so he just keeps going, “I mean, I already knew you were hot. Like, really hot. Then the thing with the underwear happened and seriously I am not being even slightly hyperbolic when I say I cannot stop thinking about it.”

“So you bought me underwear?” Derek looks at Stiles like he’s crazy and considering what he says next, yeah, he might be.

“Well I was thinking—and you can totally say no or kick my ass or whatever—that maybe you’d let me see?”

“See?” Derek repeats.

“Or not. Y’know, keep your private time private. Totally up to you.” Stiles says, desperately fighting he urge to turn tail and run.

Derek balls his fist around the blue material and stomps out of the car. Stiles swallows thickly, wondering if he can make it out to his jeep before Derek catches him or if he’s better off trying to barricade himself in the train and calling for help. He’s looking around for something strong enough to keep Derek out for the time it’ll take him to call Scott when Derek comes back in.

“Sit.” He presses a wide hand against Stiles’ chest, pushing him back towards a milk crate opposite his bed.

Stiles nods and moves backward toward the crate, hiking up his jeans as he crouches to sit on the rickety black plastic. “So…”

Derek throws him a glare over his shoulder, “Don’t talk.” He presses a knee down onto his mattress and the movement pulls the waist of his baggy grey sweatpants lower, revealing a flash of bright blue under the hem of his tank top.

“Oh,” Stiles says and feels his heart spike into a faster pace and his dick start to harden in his jeans.

“I said don’t talk.” Derek says, easing himself down onto the bed so he’s lying on his back. He takes a few deep breaths through his nose and Stiles realizes Derek’s probably just as nervous as he is.

Stiles bites his lip to stifle any ill-thought words of encouragement, he bites down harder when Derek throws an arm over his eyes and pulls his shirt up to trace his fingers along his abdomen. Stiles is close enough to see the hair curl around his fingertips as they slide lower. He lifts his hips up off the mattress and tugs the sweats down to his knees, kicking them the rest of the way off.

Stiles isn’t likely to admit it, but he put a lot of consideration into which panties to buy. Looking at the stark blue against the warm tan of Derek’s skin and the way the cut of his hipbones lead down to that thin line of black lace make him realize it was incredibly worth it.

He shudders as Derek palms himself, rubbing the soft material over his the head of his dick which Stiles can just see through the sheer fabric. His hand moves agonizingly slow, gently stroking himself like he has all the time in world.

Stiles digs fingers into the denim at his knees, hissing when the movement drags his zipper against his dick. Derek’s head turns toward him like he forgot Stiles is there, as if there was some way he could tune out the thumping of Stiles’ heart or the increasingly rapid huffing of his breath.

Derek looks him over through dark lashes and nods toward the crotch of his jeans. Stiles unbuttons his pants to relieve the tension, but doesn’t do anything more, in favor of watching Derek.

The corner of Derek’s mouth turns up and he looks away, turning his eyes toward the ceiling. There’s a wet patch on the briefs where he’s straining against them and he lets a hand slip beneath the waistband, fingertips brushing the bow there, while his other hand rubs the material into the skin of his hips.

Stiles chokes on the noise trying to escape his throat when Derek wraps a hand around the base of his dick and starts letting out these soft breathy sounds. Stiles eyes’ flick away from Derek’s hands to his face, his lips are parted and twisting around words he can’t concentrate long enough to form. His eyelashes are fluttering rapidly, revealing blown pupils in between their presses against his flushed cheeks.

Stiles allows himself a hand beneath his own boxers, just pressing lightly against the warm skin. His eyes rake down Derek’s body to where his tank top is still rucked up around his chest to the hand around his dick to his bent knees and toes curling against the sheets. He’s seen Derek without clothes before, after a shift or helping him into the bathtub to wash the blood off him as he heals but there’s something about the way he is now, that feels more undressed than anything Stiles has ever seen. Something about Derek’s wrinkled shirt clinging to him as he gets himself off in a pair of damp blue panties, that reminds Stiles he’s in no fit state to be seen, but he’s letting Stiles look anyway.

A groan passes his lips as he slides his hand along his dick, and Derek trembles at the sound. His hips twitch as the pace of his strokes quickens and Stiles finds himself matching it, finally closing his fingers around himself. It’s strange, moving in tandem like this, but he’s barely aware of himself with Derek panting and gasping on the bed in front of him. He shifts his jeans off his hips so he has more room to work himself under his boxers, Derek looks over at him and just stares.

Stiles stares right back, eyes darting between Derek’s glazed eyes and his hips bucking up into his hand. Stiles stares back until he feels heat pool low in his stomach and the muscles of his thighs clench and then he has to shut his eyes as comes with a stuttered moan. He leans forward, elbows on his thighs to hold himself up and looks back to Derek.

Derek’s eyes are fixed on the stain soaking into the front of Stiles’ green Aquaman boxers. “Fuck.” Derek whispers and throws his head back, coming with another jerk of his hips, all over the pretty turquoise blue fabric.

Neither of them say anything for a while and Stiles just sits there with his hand still in his shorts, trying to remember how he’s supposed to function in the rest of his life now.

“You know,” Derek says finally, “These smell just like you.”

“Oh?” Stiles manages.

How much did you rub your hands on them? It’s like you doused them in the scent of your own damn arousal.”

“I told you, couldn’t stop thinking about it.” Stiles rubs his clean hand across his short hair, “Sometimes thinking involved holding women’s underwear while I got off.”

“You held them while you—stop talking.” Derek says looking like he genuinely cannot handle the mere thought of Stiles right now, but he really wants to. He drags himself up off the bed and grabs his sweats from the floor and Stiles has a moment to marvel at the way the semi-transparent poly nylon fabric stretches across the curve of Derek’s stupidly perfect ass before he heads out of the car leaving Stiles alone again, only this time more confused and considerably stickier.

He comes back a few minutes later wearing his sweats and he tosses another pair to Stiles along with a warm wash cloth. Derek flops down on the bed and gives him the courtesy of turning his back while Stiles cleans himself up and changes. Once he has the dark track pants as tight as they’ll go, but still sliding off his slim waist, Derek turns back over and beckons Stiles closer.

Stiles shuffles until his calves are bumping the edge of the bed, Derek rolls his eyes and yanks him down until they’re lying next to each other.

“So,” Stiles says once Derek’s settled half on top of him, “Considering you just ruined me for any sexual experience with anyone else ever, you wanna catch a movie sometime?"

Derek lifts his head to frown at Stiles, “Ruined?”

Stiles can see the hint of worry in the set of Derek’s eyebrows so he grins, “Yeah dude, you kind of broke the hotness meter in half and made the remaining pieces your collective bitch. Besides, you know what they say, once you go pack, you never go back.”

“I’ll do anything you want if you promise to never say that again.” He leans forward to press a quick kiss to Stiles’ lips, it may make his heart flutter in a way he’s kind of glad Derek can hear.

“I can work with that,” Stiles says and pushes Derek’s head back down to the crook of his neck so he can wrap an arm around his shoulders and run his fingers through dark hair.

He can definitely work with that.


End file.
